#patriarchal
No men.
But when the
conversation starts, they dominate.
Worm their way into every sentence, every silence.
Every caught breath, exhaled pause.
Names, nice-to-meet-yous, passed round with sandwiches and tea.
Hole-riddled autobiographies, wadded out with circumstance and need.
Explaining themselves, defending their actions. In turn. And I?
Have never felt so young.
To my left, and working clockwise: Affair-with-the-boss, Heart-condition, High-risk-of-genetic-defects,
In-the-middle-of-a-divorce-not-sure-why-she-slept-with-him, Grown-up-children-can’t-bear-to-go-through-that-again,
and back to me. (Boyfriend-has-two-kids-wants-no-more)
He noticed that I’m pregnant.
Was pregnant.
Was.
We chew our way through sandwiches. Different coloured fillings, no flavour- choked down with lukewarm tea.
We know it’s a test.
We have to talk, smile, eat, drink, laugh (not manically)
if we're to go home.
I can’t do it.
I want to cry. But I’ve been told off for that already (curled up on a trolley, examining bloodied fingers)
I drift, I think.
Jump out of my skin when she speaks to me.
"You must eat" she says.
"You must eat."
I search for myself in their eyes,
re-make myself from fragments and reflections I find there (Four parts child, one part b-tch)
"It’s OK" I tell her, "It’s OK.
On my way home I’ll get a Happy Meal.
I’m collecting the toys."
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
"Cheers!" and we drink to
this totalitarian,
patriarchal ****
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 6:36 PM UTC
Smoky air, fedora and billboards,
testosterone-fuelled dreams.
the purest of all male forms in its finest
yet darkest days.
Who run the world? Men.
The sweat pouring off of the masculine brow
that controls what we are prohibited.
The lights of Morris Minors flooding the
streets.
The watchful eye that sits upon the ashes.
They’re in charge. Them, and only them.
A red right-hand to those anti-them.
They will tear you apart
if you decide against pledging allegiance.
Or you’ll end up in the sand.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
I'm a valedictorian not a *****
Each to their own, but really you should start thinking.
My ****** does not make me different, but my brain has a weird way of thinking.
It does not change the game,
****** me then maybe in football you could actually clutch me.
Say I can't make a difference I say pshh just watch me.
Sweetie I'm here to tell you that your beauty fades.
You're not Marilyn Monroe! Your smile won't be engraved.
All women use their vaginas, but how many use their brains?
How many have their own wants and peeves?
Or do you like it because it appeals male?
Dress up all you want! You will still feel the same pain.
After all is said and done...
You really think you'll look the same?
Sagging skin and a trembling voice don't you wish you behaved?
Touching boys and making noise, left you in an empty room with sorrow and pain.
Meanwhile someone else's room is extremely full while a maids cleaning, How do you think they paid?
Theyres always gonna be females that look better but brains are all but different.
So lately has anyone used it cause girls keep looking the same?
So listen to my warning and stop this raid, boys will be boys and love is obviously over rated.
Focus on education and then you will say 20 years later when life goes smoothly by, this is the poem that you will idolize.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
I don't want to be perfect
What an incorrect prospect
I like my defect
At least I'm not an object
My eyes do not resemble suns
My words are more like guns
Aimed at your sons
I've only just begun
My hair is not soft and fine
You simply cannot define
Or enshrine
Standby and do not whine
My thoughts are not innocent and pure
Nothing is secure
But I am certainly not your saviour
My behaviour brings danger
I am not your entertainer
My hands are not are not flowers
I have different powers
Which devours and towers
Over your mouth as he cowers
Nature is not just beautiful
And neither am I
How dare you belittle it with unsuitable lies
Save your goodbyes
I am not your demise, that would be unwise
Do you not realise I have a disguise?
I am not perfect
Yet you could never recreate and resurrect my imperfections
Save your affections
I need to find my own directions, away from your infectious reflections
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC